5. Fortis Fortuna Adiuvat
Chapter five
Fortis Fortuna Adiuvat
Melina
Arrow’s nails click against the stone walkway as he skids to a stop, eyes locked on the stick in my hand.
His body trembles with anticipation as I swing my arm back and release, my gaze flicking to the street.
Instinct or paranoia? I don’t know anymore.
Heat floods my chest—anger laced with fear, the hollow ache of knowing safety isn’t mine anymore.
The yard looks unchanged: neatly trimmed grass, flowerbeds bursting with color.
The oak tree my parents planted when I was a girl now towers over the roof, a guardian of my childhood.
They sold me this house when they moved to Florida to enjoy retirement.
Across the street, bright houses line up in tidy rows.
Everything looks normal. But it isn’t. Not when even this fleeting moment feels stolen.
I’d feel more at ease if Matt were here. It’s been two days since our last conversation—two nights of broken sleep, restless days, and always looking over my shoulder.
And last night? Three hang-ups from a blocked number. I dismissed the first as a misdial. The second tied my stomach in knots. By the third, I was wide awake, Arrow at my side, fingers wrapped tight around a baseball bat. Whoever it was didn’t call again.
I shake off the memory, forcing myself to focus on my pup as he trots back, stick clamped proudly in his jaws.
“Drop it,” I command. He obeys. “Good boy.” I scratch his head before scooping up the twig and tossing it again.
Movement catches my eye as a dark, familiar truck rolls down the street—one I’d recognize anywhere. It’s powerful and sexy, just like the man behind the wheel.
Relief hits me so hard my knees nearly buckle. Matt pulls into his driveway and cuts the engine before stepping into the late-afternoon sun.
Arrow notices him the instant his boots hit the pavement. To my complete shock, my fiercely protective dog bolts forward at a dead sprint. Matt barely has time to react before Arrow barrels straight to his feet, tail wagging like they’re old friends.
“Well, damn. Didn't realize I had a fan club,” Matt chuckles, patting the top of his head as I approach.
I cross my arms, feigning annoyance. “Traitor.”
He runs his fingers through Arrow’s thick coat, scratching behind his ears without a second thought. “I’d have felt better if I’d known you had a live-in security guard.”
I huff a laugh. “Yeah, until my stalker offers him belly rubs or peanut butter.”
His lips twitch, but his eyes stay sharp. “He might surprise you.”
“How so?”
“Depends on his obedience and defensive drive.”
I hesitate. “He listens… mostly.”
Matt’s brows lift. “Formal training?”
I shake my head, feeling embarrassed. To my astonishment, there’s no judgment—only a quiet nod of understanding.
German Shepherds are working dogs that need discipline. Unfortunately, I’ve never had the time or resources to hire a professional.
“It’s okay,” he says. “You’re doing better than you think."
I snort. “You just met him. How would you know?”
Instead of replying, he refocuses on my four-legged friend.
Matt’s voice sharpens. “Sit.” Arrow plants himself without hesitation.
“Down.” Another firm command, and Arrow drops to his belly, tail thumping the ground.
My jaw all but hits the floor. “Okay, what the hell?”
“Good boy.” Matt gives him a quick pat on the snout before glancing back at me. “Solid response. He’s sharp.”
“I know I should’ve done more with his training. I kept putting it off, and before I knew it, he’d gotten older… I thought it was too late.”
Matt shakes his head. “You’re not a trainer, Melina. No need to feel guilty. Besides… it’s never too late.”
“You think so?” I murmur.
“I do.” He holds my gaze for a moment, then adds, “I’d be happy to train him.”
I hesitate. “I couldn’t ask you to do that.”
His lips quirk. “You didn’t. I offered.”
I open my mouth to protest, but before I can, he nods toward my canine companion. “Any behaviors you want to work on?”
I sigh. “The only real issue I’ve had is resource guarding.”
“Food?”
I nod. “And more recently… me.”
Something shifts in his expression—so quickly I almost miss it. Any trace of ease vanishes, tension biting into his jaw. He glances at Arrow, then back at me, his body going rigid in a way that makes my pulse quicken.
I frown. “What is it?”
“German shepherds in particular have a strong guardian drive.”
“I didn’t train him to be protective.”
“You didn’t have to,” Matt says, voice steady. “He picked it up from your energy, your body language, or… something else.”
His focus lingers on me a beat too long before he exhales and rakes a hand through his hair. “It’s not a bad thing that he wants to protect you. But you should be the one calling the shots—not him.”
I glance down at Arrow. “And how do I do that?”
His smile returns, though it doesn’t reach his eyes. “That’s where I come in.”
I tilt my head. “You’ve done this before?”
“I worked with K9s in the military.”
My eyebrows lift. “Oh wow. So you’re actually a professional.” I chuckle, then add, “You never told me what branch you were in.”
“75th Ranger Regiment.”
I blink. “Army Rangers? You said you were military—I didn’t realize you were special forces.”
He shakes his head. “Special operations. Green Berets are Special Forces.”
I wave a hand. “Potato, potahto. Sounds like a big deal to me.”
He laughs, shrugging it off like it’s nothing.
“Do you still have your partner?”
Sadness shadows his face. “No.”
The pain in his voice steals my breath. “I’m sorry,” I whisper, wishing it were enough.
He exhales slowly. “Oscar has a good handler. He’s where he needs to be.”
For the first time, I glimpse something behind his walls—something aching. I rest a hand on his arm, and instantly a spark arcs between us. His breath catches, just barely, and I know he feels it too.
“Thank you,” I say.
Matt frowns. “For what?”
“For offering to help.” My voice softens. “I know it can’t be easy.”
“You’re welcome.” His armor slides firmly back into place.
“Okay. But you have to let me pay you for your time.”
“Not a chance.”
I shake my head. “I will find a way to repay you.”
His smirk turns wicked. “That so? Guess I’ll have to get… creative.”
I roll my eyes, fighting a smile. “You’re incorrigible.”
The air between us crackles, heat threading through the banter—until his phone buzzes, cutting the moment short. He glances at the screen. “Speaking of things I’m actually being paid for,” he says. “The plate came back.”
I tense. “And?”
“Rental, stolen card, Steele’s still investigating.”
A chill runs through me. Not exactly comforting. Matt sees my reaction, and his voice drops. “I’ve got it under control.”
“He called me,” I whisper. “Well… I think it was him. Three times. Blocked number. All hang-ups.”
Matt’s eyes narrow. “When?”
“Last night.”
He breathes out sharply through his nose, jaw tightening. “Steele will try to trace it. Next time he calls, don’t pick up — just tell me.”
His gaze fixes on mine, voice lower. “I won’t let him hurt you, Melina.”
The words hang heavy between us. He breaks the moment with movement, lifting his arm to throw the stick for Arrow—and that’s when I see it. Blood, seeping through his shirt. My breath stutters.
“Matt, you’re bleeding.”
He barely reacts, glancing down in surprise. “Shit.”
“Shit? That’s all you have to say?” I step forward, fingers reaching for the material at his waist. “What happened?”
“Brooks’s skills must be slipping,” he mutters. “It’s nothing.”
I glare up at him. “You didn’t answer my question, Matthew.”
“It only grazed my ribs.”
My stomach flips. “You got… shot?!” My voice spikes, torn between disbelief and fury. “And you were just going to brush it off?”
He smirks, just slightly. “Wasn’t the first time.”
I gape. “Oh, excuse me, let me just cancel my reaction—”
Light flickers in his eyes, but I’m not amused. I know his job is dangerous, but this? This feels like too much. And yet, I can’t resist the pull he has on me.
“Inside. Now.”
He bursts out laughing, unguarded for once. “Yes, ma’am.”
And then I lead him in to play doctor. God help me.
***
We move through the hallway in silence, Arrow padding at our heels. My pulse ticks faster the closer we get to my bedroom. Matt’s attention flicks around, cataloging details the way he always does.
When we step into the master, his gaze catches on my bed for half a beat too long. Heat rushes to my cheeks, and when I glance at him, he clears his throat.
“You have a lovely home.”
“Thank you,” I murmur, stepping into the bathroom. The light flares against the tile, but all I can feel is his presence behind me.
I lean down and reach into the cabinet, fumbling as I grab the hydrogen peroxide, gauze pads, cotton balls, medical tape—anything that looks remotely useful. My breath quickens as I set the pile on the counter.
I turn toward him, giving him a look that says what I can’t.
He hesitates, then strips off his shirt and tosses it aside.
That’s when my brain short-circuits. I knew he was built.
His fitted tees made that obvious, but knowing and seeing are two different things.
He’s pure muscle, every inch carved from years of strength, scarred and inked with stories I’ve yet to hear.
My eyes follow the eagle across his chest, wings spread wide, talons clutching a scroll that reads: Fortis Fortuna Adiuvat. This one I recognize— Fortune favors the brave.
But the ink doesn’t stop there. On his right forearm, a dagger pierces an arrowhead. I trace the edge of the blade with my fingers, brushing over the delicate lettering etched across it: Sine Pari.
“What does this mean?” I ask softly.
“The script is Latin: ‘ Without equal .’ Delta's motto. The number on the handle was my team.”
I blink, processing. “Delta Force? That’s—” I cut myself off, shaking my head. “Wow.”
His expression remains the same, but there’s a guarded edge underneath. “Not something I usually share.”
It feels like more than words, as if his icy exterior is thawing just a little. Beneath the blade, a coiled rattlesnake bares its fangs.
“A warning?” I ask.
He gives a dry smile. “More like a promise.”
My fingers drift lower, toward the delicate ink near his wrist—a compass pointing true north, with a set of coordinates etched just below it.
“What’s here?” I whisper.
Something flickers in his expression. “Somewhere I lost a piece of myself.”
I don’t press. The weight in his voice says enough.
Down his ribcage, a column of names runs the length of his side, carved into him like scars that will never fade.
“Turn.”
He exhales quietly but complies, giving me his back. A blackened tree of life reaches down his spine, its jagged branches and roots digging deep, anchoring him—not decorative, not peaceful—wounded. Beneath it, another set of coordinates.
“These aren’t the same as your wrist,” I murmur.
He nods once. “They mark the worst day. So I’ll never forget.”
“I’m sorry,” I whisper.
“Me too.”
I should look away, let him keep his privacy. But for the second time today, it isn’t his walls I see. It’s the weight of his past, the shape of his pain. I want to know everything.
My gaze drops to the wound on his ribs, a raw gash—shallow enough to avoid stitches, but deep enough to make my stomach twist. Dried blood streaks toward the waistband of his jeans.
“I need to clean this.”
Matt shrugs like it’s nothing, but his focus never wavers. I grab a cotton ball and soak it with peroxide, trying to disregard how close he is. How good he smells.
“This is going to sting.”
He smirks. “Not my first rodeo, babe.”
I should be concentrating on patching him up, but the warmth of his skin beneath my fingertips is impossible to ignore.
I swallow hard and glance up, expecting his usual cool detachment but finding only heat.
My heart kicks against my ribs. His body tenses under my touch, like he’s holding perfectly still, afraid that one wrong move might let go of his control.
“What happened?” I ask, desperate to break the tension.
He shrugs. “Mission went sideways.”
A chill slips down my spine. “And?”
“We handled it.”
That’s all he gives me. No details. No explanation. I want to press, but something tells me I won’t like the answer.
I grab a gauze pad and apply it gently over the cut. “You need to be more careful.”
Matt lets out a low, amused sound. “I’ll try to avoid getting shot next time.”
I shoot him a look. “Not funny.”
His lips curve, but the smile doesn’t reach his eyes. “Comes with the territory, Melina.”
“Yeah, well, I don’t have to like it. Here—hold this.” I press his hand over the gauze, then grab a piece of tape and tear it with my teeth before smoothing it in place.
“There. All done.”
He doesn’t move, and neither do I. The current between us hums, sharp and electric, pulling everything taut.
He shifts closer, his breath quickening, gaze flicking to my mouth.
The ache coils low in my belly, awakening a need I haven’t felt in a long time.
I should step back—stop wondering what his lips would feel like pressed against mine.
He reaches for me, fingers hovering near my hip. For a moment, he lingers, as if he might close the distance. But then his fist curls tight, his jaw ticking as his body goes rigid. Quietly, he pulls away.
When he speaks, the words rasp out, low and uneven. “I should go.”
“Yeah, of course.” I swallow. “I’ll walk you out.”
I follow him through the house in silence, both of us bearing the weight of words left unsaid. He pauses at the door, his grip tightening on the knob before he turns to face me. “Call me if you need anything. I don’t care what time it is.”
“I will.”
His expression softens. “Promise?”
“Promise.”
A beat passes before he adds. “Thanks for patching me up.”
“Anytime.”
He smiles at me brightly. “I’ll check on you tomorrow.”
And with that, he pivots and disappears into the night, leaving me breathless and craving more. My God, I want him.